


Glory

by emma_and_orlando



Category: The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ancient Rome, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Awesome Minho, Confusion, M/M, Protective Janson, badass Minho, but not really forced because its love, minewt, papa janson, sort of forced marriage
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-22
Updated: 2016-08-21
Packaged: 2018-08-10 07:22:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7835401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emma_and_orlando/pseuds/emma_and_orlando
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emperor Janson Validus had attended to every tournament that had taken place annually in his realm. </p><p>But this year- this year was most certainly getting a full chapter in the history books.</p><p>Or</p><p>Minho will do anything to throw himself into Newt's arms at the end of the day, even if that included chasing after his own death</p>
            </blockquote>





	Glory

Emperor Janson Validus had attended to every tournament that had taken place annually in his realm. 

But this year- this year was most certainly getting a full chapter in the history books.

For the past twelve generations the Validus family had held a claim upon the throne. And as celebration upon their never ending prosperity they held the tournament in the capitals arena. 

Jansons father had taken him to his first tournament as a little boy. Still young and incredibly foolish. The tournament had appeared as games in the eyes of a child. But when age came along with wisdom, he learned that the tournament was more of a symbol to the people than a common celebration.

If it wasn't for the amount of gold and time the throne enfranchise for the tournaments. It would be the merciless violence that intimidated the people. 

The beasts, hungered for days, starving to see blood. Trained to tear the flesh from the competitors bones. 

Janson had been impressed by his breeders, watching the monsters from their cages. Frustrated and delirious with aggression. 

It had promised a wonderful tournament. 

But if Janson hadn't been Emperor for the last few decades, he would have believed promises were always kept.

\------------------

"This isn't a god forsaken athletics competition." Janson complained. Narrowing his eyes and gripping onto the edge of the balcony. "I want to see his corpse bathing in his own blood."

The sun was scorching the arena. The heat was flushing the competitors skins. Screams ripping from the mans throat as the hungry beast was catching up on him.

Serves the man for running instead of fighting as the rules clearly depict.

Janson motions for the slaves to speed up the impellers. His skin heating up uncomfortably.

"If you can't hurry yourself, I will see your hands thrown to the beasts, slave." He informs roughly. 

The cool air soon strikes his exposed skin. Clearing some of the anger and frustration that clouded his mind. The warmth not too pleasant on a full day of outside activities. 

Seated beside him, his son let's out a bored sigh. Leaning onto his elbows and peering down at the tournament. As royals seated best in the arena. They had a clear look over the full ground.

"Is the sun catching up on you, child?" 

Newt glances at him. As always easy on the eye and innocence still radiating from him, even as he was not far from coming off age. 

"The games are always so identical to one another, father. Everyone dies, when lucky one wins and we grant them their wish for affluence." 

Janson shakes his head fondly. "Games... My son, you're but a child." 

Newt rolls his eyes. His golden locks falling over his eyes. Curling just slightly not to blind himself. Janson couldn't help but notice that he was as beautiful as his mother. 

As stubborn as well, to say the least.

"How grateful I am for your looks." Janson adds, gesturing for a slave to serve them a stronger wine. If his son was going to make a fuss, this will make a long day with just the two of them to communicate directly.

Newt gratefully gulps down his wine- following after his father with his drinking habits. 

Janson mimics him, not going too fast with the wine for he still had to see straight at the end of the day. 

"I just don't understand it, child, I used to look forward to the tournament when I was your age." 

Newt shrugs, his skin paler than usual. As if he was sporting an illness, a shadow shading under his eyes.

"I'm just not feeling too well, father. Can I be excused?" 

Janson frowned. Newt sounded strained, perhaps desperate even. There was by no doubt more behind his sons frown and nervous side eyeing.

"This is just the seventh round, child. Let me call a healer or stay until at least the tenth round." 

Newt huffed. Known for hating to be invested by the healers. 

"I just can't see any more of this. It's a bloody waste." Newt mutters as one last cry leaves the man down in the arena, before falling to his knees and geting ripped apart by the beast. 

Blood mixes with dirt on the ground

Janson took another sip from his golden goblet, another tradition that had been around for the tournaments. He had seen his fathers father had drunk from the same goblet and so did the generations before. 

One day Newt would be mature enough to lead the tournament. Or so he hoped.

"It will indeed be a waste if you get too drunk to focus on the fight. These people die in hope of a better life." He points towards the man being dragged away by a group of slaves, the beast readying for the next competitor.

"You can at least take it upon yourself to give them a smile before they meet the gods. They'll have a story to tell, Imperial Highness Newton Validus has given me the eye." Janson attempts to joke, watching his son closely as he managed a private smile.

"I don't honestly believe the Gods care for my looks, father."

Janson strokes his sons hair, keeping the locks from his eyes. "You would be surprised, my child. The Gods are fighting to take a claim upon you once you reach the gates of heaven." 

Newt batts his fathers hands away playfully. Some of the nerves melting from his posture. 

But Janson recognized the stiffness in his son as no other. Janson knew the early stages of grief.

"The next fight is beginning." One of the slaves announces, as her job was. Bowing before stepping back. Another one steps forward to refill Newton's empty cup.

Newt nods gratefully, a habit not from his mother and neither his father, but from his good old grandmother. Always unholy high respect for slaves that Janson had always lacked. 

He shook his head fondly. Placing his hand over Newt's on the balcony.

Thousands of people started to cheer as the next fighter lines up. A spear in his left hand and a dagger in the right one.

The man wasn't heavily armored. Keeping himself light and easy on his feet. 

Janson felt Newt's hand ball up into a fist as the man steps into the light and the beast smells him. 

Ready to taste his blood.

Janson scans the man down. Hardly seemed nervous. With an exotic tint to his skin and his eyes narrowly shaped, suggesting he is no local. 

There was anything but fear in the mans eyes as he stormed upon the beast. No hesitation in his step as he narrows the distance between himself snd the gods.

"This will be a quick one." He says absently, stroking Newt's balled fist. "It will get bloody when they have no brains." 

Newt glances at his father, eyes filled with what seemed disgust and perhaps horror. 

"I honestly don't want to see this." He whispers, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. Newt looked like he was going to get sick over their seats.

Janson doesn't hesitate to squeeze his sons hand. 

"Bring us a bucket and be quick about it." The slaves start rushing to serve their masters. Fear radiating from their postures, Janson couldn't care less for the moment,

Newt shook his head, keeping his eyes from the roaring beast down the arena. "I-I'm fine, I just... Had too much wine." 

Janson narrowed his eyes. His son wasn't just a horrible liar, he was also stupid enough to believe Janson would take shit lies.

"You had four drinks, Newton, your limit lays higher than that." 

Newt just stares at his lap, his breathe hitching slightly as the groans and cries get louder down the balcony. 

"What is wrong, child!" Janson lost his patience. There wasn't enough wine in the damn world to handle his sons emotional breakdown. 

Newt shakes his head, his arms reaching out towards Janson like the child he still was. 

Janson could consider himself heartless as the emperor of a enormous realm, but he didn't consider his heart cold when it came to his motherless child.

He sighed, letting Newt hide his face into his fathers chest and wrapping his arms around the delicate body. 

"Is this tournament so horrid, child? The past years were never such trouble." 

Newt shook his head again. Gripping his father tighter as a scream came from the arena. "I knew him, Father."

Janson glanced over his sons shoulder. The fighter still on his feet, but his spear was broken to pieces and blood was flowing from his wounds.

The beast looked not just pissed, but frustrated.

"From where? A former slave of any sorts?" 

Newt shook his head, peeking from his fathers chest to see the tournament continue, his so called friend still standing. 

"We- I met him at the moonlight festivities. His family takes control over the fields and-"

Janson cuts him off. "You can't marry a field control boy, Son. Not even if he manages to win the money here." 

Newt pushes himself from his chest, looking him in the eye. "I know father... I- I feel sick to watch him die. I-"

Both their attention gets caught as a the thousands of echoed gasps go through the crowd.

A loud roar rips through the air, sending chills down Newt's body. 

He couldn't bear not to look. Pushing himself away from his father. Making his way to the balcony and peering down to the grounds of the arena.

His breath caught in his throat. 

The beasts body fell to the ground. Dagger stuck into the monsters eye, bleeding down to the dirty grounds.

Minho stood up, shaken and bleeding steadily. 

But surprisingly, Janson noted, alive.

The crowds turned their heads towards the Emperors balcony. Watching for his judgement.

Janson kept the obvious surprise from his face as he stood up, keeping his eyes from Newt to avoid a emotional influence from his son, raising his hand up in glory.

The crowd starts cheering and applauding after the emperors approval, as the fighter stands up and stands in victory. Throwing his arms up and cheering.

Newt was applauding as well, his eyes shining with pure joy. 

"He did it father. He made it!"

Janson nods, smiling at his sons childish enthusiasm. "He will be granted his wish for life lasting wealth, child. Perhaps you will be able to see him around more this way."

Newt shines excitedly. Reaching for some more rich tasting wine to celebrate his friends survival. 

Janson takes a gulp alongside his son, ready to confront the first winner of this years annual tournament. Offering the wish and granting it.

The winner steps forward. His body glistening in the sun and sweat clinging to his skin. He looked exhausted but didn't express it, with a broad smile and tough posture.

Janson makes eye contact with the man, raising his hand to effectively silence the full crowd in the arena. 

Now raising both arms, as tradition says, congratulates the fighter for his power and glory.

"Fighter! Step forward and I will grant your wish!"

The fighter bows for the emperor sinking to his knees. "The name is Minho Parlion! I come here to claim my granted wish."

Janson inwardly rolls his eyes. The words drilled into his mind as an old tune never leaving your mind. 

Minho Parlion looked far too smug, for Jansons liking. 

Newt was sitting down again. Watching the scene go down in great interest, the people who could say they survived the tournament were scarce. 

"Then now, first winner of the annual tournaments, Minho Parlion, the throne grants you a life of never ending affluence-"

The fighter interrupts. "As per official rules of the tournament. I am granted one wish."

Janson tries for everything within is power not to call his guards and chop this mans head off, for even Newt looked surprised at the sudden interruption coming from Parlion.

For the past few centuries the granted wish had been money related, or granted full freedom for slaves and their full families. 

But the rules never said it had to be wealth related.

"According to the rules, yes, you are." Janson says instead.

All heads turned towards them, men, women and children on the highest peak of excitement for a winner has entered the arena. 

A heavy silence fallen over the arenas crowd. 

"I am granted one wish. And I wish: to marry your son."

This years annual tournament, will undoubtedly make it into the history books. Janson comments as the words leave Minho's mouth like poison to all of Jansons future plans.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay 3 chaoters, I needed tow rite this down, it's four AM and I needed it our of my system. If this story even makes sense, ur welcome ;)


End file.
